Thud
by EdyFerrone
Summary: Santana gets bullied because of her sexuality. The ballroom in Lima seems to offer a way to feel better. She meets a girl there. It's a lot like her but for completely different reasons.
1. Prologue

**Ship:** Brittany/Santana.

**Rating: **NC-17/M.

**Summary:** Santana gets bullied because of her sexuality. The ballroom in Lima seems to offer a way to feel better. She meets a girl there. It's a lot like her but for completely different reasons.

**Author's Note:** This long is based on a prompt an anonymous left in my ask, telling about Santana being outted and bullied and Brittany being _– spoiler_ – deaf. If you feel sensible towards the theme of bullying and verbal violence, I suggest you don't read this. Any mistake is my fault, and I hope you forgive it because English is not my first language.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee, Brittana nor other characters, sadly.

/

**Prologue**

You look at yourself in the mirror of your room.

It may be afternoon, but it's always night in your heart. The darkness around you, the darkness in your life is denser than anything else.

You look in the mirror and know that there's something wrong with you. Or rather, you don't understand what it is, but you think it's there because otherwise no one will haunt you this way. You've never done anything to hurt others, so you must be the problem.

Your hair blacks down in ringlets over your shoulders, you just made up, your eyes are dark and deep. They tell a story that a seventeen-years-old girl shouldn't even know about.

You didn't want anyone to know.

You didn't want the rumor to explode, but that stupid Finn Hudson just couldn't help but scream down the hallway that you had no right to fuck Rachel Berry, because she was his girlfriend.

From that fucking day, life in McKinley is a living hell.

Everybody looks at you as if your life doesn't worth more than a few cents, just because you prefer kissing a girl's mouth rather than a boy's. Is there really something wrong with you?

Maybe there is.

If it weren't so, why would anybody hate you?

The decision you have made today is a little out of your usual plans. Every day you sit in your room to study – you usually took boys here to fuck when you were still interested in them; today is gonna be different.

You gather your hair in a ponytail at first, then you decide it's going to become a chignon. You collect them together to give it this elegant shape that highlights the features of your beautiful Latin face.

It seems incredible, but since you like girls, you feel more free and beautiful. Or rather, you'd feel like this if it wasn't like anybody is trying to make you feel like a monster.

You fix a little the black vest you are wearing. It's sporty, drawn to block the sweat and it's going to be useful today as it hasn't been for years, because Sue Sylvester doesn't tolerate that her cheerleaders wear sports underwear, anyway.

You look beautiful in the mirror, but you don't feel like it.

You give yourself one last look and try to show yourself a smile of encouragement. It's weak and thick, but it will do so.

Today you're doing something you haven't done for years.

Today you're dancing.

/

When you enter the ballroom, everything seems very different from what you remember. It's the same old room in Lima, in which you had your lesson when you were a child, but maybe something has changed in the decorations because it doesn't look familiar. You shrug anyway, almost unconsciously, while watching the other girls as they prepare and settle, and the instructor who is relaxing her muscles down, stretching right in front of you.

The woman looks a lot like your old dance teacher, and then you deduce that she must be her daughter, or something. You take a few steps forward, and she turns to face you.

Then you stare at her because _wow_, she's beautiful.

She has bright green eyes, a beaming proud smile. Her hair is blond and perfectly soft. She's completely dressed in black, just like you.

She walks to meet you, leaning one hand towards you while she holds her hip with the other. You probably look a bit stupid right now because you're missing out of air, trying to say something. You've just discovered your sexuality and she is really beautiful and sexy, so it's sort of a thing for you not to notice.

"Cassandra July." She's the one to break the silence and you swallow.

You've always been a classy bitch, but when you see a beautiful woman you become sweet, you stutter and smile.

You take a deep breath.

You don't want to stutter right now.

You reach out to her with one hand, and with the other you hold tightly at the bag on your shoulders. Your legs are shaking while you squeeze her hand between your fingers and you feel like you're on fire. You could blame the heat - the sun is strong through the window - but now you're being bullied every day at school. You're certainly not going to deny your reactions to yourself now.

"Santana Lopez." You say and she spreads her smile, it's almost a sneer.

Up close, you realize that it has very little to do with the kind smile of your old teacher. Now that she's nearer, you don't feel so comfortable. She's watching you from head to toe, as if she can't help but judge you. You try to think that maybe she does it with all the girls in the room; it's not about you being different, not in this room where you came to with the hope of not being judged.

Eventually, you see a happy smile on Cassandra's face and she lets go of your hand, nodding toward the room.

"You have a well-trained body." She tells you and then you realize that she was examining you. "It's pleasure to welcome you here."

You force a smile, probably because you don't love who judges, who makes you feel under scrutiny simply because you dared to cross an unexplored threshold. You walk beside her, trying to ignore the fact that you still feel her gaze focused on your back as you walk to the corner.

You begin to warm up then too, to loosen your muscles. Despite all the workouts with the Cheerios, when you were part of them, now you feel weighed down, and you have to find a new balance with physical exercises before you can really dance.

You try not to look too much at the girls who are around you, you don't really want them to start criticizing you simply because your gaze is resting too long on one leg, perhaps accidentally. It's always frustrating having to be careful about anything you do but it's also necessary.

This could be a new beginning for you, the place where you feel protected.

"Well, girls, five more minutes." Cassandra is announcing, walking around the room. "If no one else comes, we'll start like this." She explains and you nod when she looks at you, to let her know that you're listening.

Your eyes fall randomly on someone then.

She's coming from the door and she immediately attracts your attention from the way she moves.

Long strong legs support her body and your eyes lift to stare at her face.

It's the most amazing thing you've ever seen.

She's wonderful.

Her face is pale, light, marble, you also seem to notice that she has freckles but you can't tell because she's too far from you right now. Her eyes, however, regardless of the meters, are as blue as the sky and seem to tell a thousand stories. Everything is beautiful about her, you know it as she gets closer. She has golden hair, collected in two long and straight pigtails. You look at her mouth: her lips are sealed in a somehow unnatural way, as if she's afraid to speak.

When you look better, you realize she is watching Cassandra with a scared look, as if she wants to ask if she can get in. Cassandra hasn't noticed her yet: she's reading and fixing some paperwork on her desk and you're confused, you wonder why the girl doesn't just call the woman or try to get her attention, with a whistle or something.

Eventually, the coach lifts her eyes from the paper and looks up to her while showing you her shoulders. She's now looking at the girl who seems to be afraid of her gaze.

Inevitably, she reminds you a bit of yourself.

It makes you think of the frightened look that must bloom on your face when you're in the halls of McKinley, they're going to hurt you and you know that's going to happen when you don't even expect it.

It's like this mysterious and beautiful girl shares her fears with you.

Maybe you're wrong.

Maybe it's just your need to find someone like you that makes you think things like this.

Cassandra nods to the girl and she enters the room, looking down. You wonder why no one is speaking all of a sudden. You feel like you're suddenly in a strange parallel reality and this silence is starting to become disturbing.

Silence is frightening.

You know a different kind of silence - while you think, the girl walks near you, ranking ahead of you and placing his bag on the floor - and it's one you live with everyday. You've started to be afraid to denounce what you're going through when you've anonymously been threatened to death and now your silence is probably going to be your death itself.

You really hope that this classroom won't remain silent for long.

You don't want to face the same things you're trying to escape from everyday here too.

She's in front of you now, and you're distracted and you want to think about something else.

You try to think about her as innocently as possible - because it's hard, when you've recently discovered that you love girls, not to think about them this way, as if you want to recover the years you've lost staring at the boys and identify them as preys.

You want to focus on her because her entry has made you curious.

You haven't figured it out yet, but there must be something that you're missing because the pieces don't fit the puzzle. Then you stare at her simply, while she's sitting on the wood stairs and taking off her sweatshirt, revealing a perfect abdomen left exposed by a black band that only covers her breasts. She wears dark shorts and you think it's a bit strange to wear leg warmers when it's so hot in this room, really, but it's just another oddity, then maybe you should just pass on it.

"Okay, ready?" Cassandra claps her hands in the middle of the room and you're still watching, while you see her pulling a pair of comfortable and bright yellow shoes, so bright that it hurts your eyes.

You wonder if anyone else would ever wear shoes like that.

Mrs. July is waving you to position yourself in the middle of the room and you're just going to move when something happens.

You're just resting on the wooden bar with your elbow and the blonde girl gets up and casually looks at you.

Your eyes meet hers, fixed on you, and you immediately shiver. You swallow, but you have no idea why you're doing this.

All you know is that she is watching you and you're a little out of breath.

It's very hard to resist her beauty.

You watch as she gets up then, as she moves following Cassandra's directions. While she walks towards the center, she is still a little turned towards you, as if she's not able to explain your presence into her mind.

You can't even explain it to yourself: this is a fucking hot ballroom, not Heaven.

You shake your head: you don't even know why you're thinking such a thing.

All you know is that your legs are moving and you are dropping an arm off of the bar. You follow her movements and positions behind her with the hope you might get some better visual.

Your plan fails.

"Lopez …" The July snaps her fingers, attracting your attention and you raise your eyebrows, not knowing what you've done wrong (since they have written in the bathrooms that you're a total failure, you always think you did something wrong). "Come on, have a little sense of logic: if you get behind Brittany I will never see you and you won't see me either."

Your mind has a blackout for a few seconds.

You don't even know what she's saying; the only thing you can think of is that the beautiful girl in front of you is called Brittany. She must have attended these lessons for a while because Cassandra has called her by name.

If you think about it, Brittany is a name that fits her like a glove fits a hand.

Brittany, however, doesn't move toward you at these words. And as if she hasn't even heard, so she's stretching her muscles, completely indifferent to the situation.

When Cassandra snaps her fingers, to get you back on this planet, you see that she's giving strange signals to Brittany. You have no idea what this means but you just stare at the scene.

After the nod, she turns to you, looking over her shoulder, with her blue eyes, curious but also a bit intimidated. You just can't understand why you scare her so much, why is she look at you like this: you're one of those people who live in fear every day and must undergo psychological and sometimes physical violence such as being thrown against the lockers.

There's not much to fear in you.

Actually, you fear a lot of things and people instead.

You try to smile, to look a little encouraging.

You take a few steps forward, following the orders of this dance teacher who seems to be the perfect reincarnation of any representation on the harpies. You step beside the girl, and when you do, she retreats to take the place you were standing on a moment before.

It's a fast exchange and leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

You have wished it lasted longer for some reasons, maybe because you can't look at her now. She's behind you and you find yourself face to face with Cassandra July.

God, this lesson is going to be unbearable against all odds, you're sure.

You can pretty much guess it from the way she's looking at you.

She looks like she's ready to judge every single person in the room and you already know that you will be once again on the list.

Before you understood the truth about your sexuality, you were such a self-confident girl ... What happened to you?

When Cassandra turns around and shows you her shoulders, you take a breath and begin to parrot her movements.

/

The lesson was traumatic, but you admit that you had expected worse from it. It's been bad, but you aren't as destroyed as you thought.

You run fingers over your forehead as soon as Cassandra claps her hands. Before she did it, you knew that maybe you couldn't. The arrogant look on her face makes you think that you can't even move without her permission.

The back of your hand immediately collects the sweat and jeez, you're going die in this damn room. You'd think that it's an oven from the temperature and you turn your eyes to the ceiling. It hasn't been liberating as you thought, but at least you're distracted for an afternoon and you didn't stay at home thinking about what's wrong with you.

You're already thinking you won't come to the next lesson.

Maybe it was just an occasion and you're not coming back. It's because you know that sooner or later, Cassandra will treat you like those fucking idiots from your high school. It didn't happen today, but it's definitely going to happen next.

You try not to sigh in her face as you move from the row, ignoring the buzz in the background and the girls starting to chat at the end of the lesson. You walk up to the bar, where you've got all your stuff.

When you get up, with the bag firmly resting on your shoulder and a sudden need to go the room that begins to distress you, you just want to escape.

But something happens.

Your body collides with someone else, and there are suddenly two strong hands locking your arms to keep you from falling. You immediately feel these fingers tremble on your skin, so you image that contact has scared the other person too.

However, this awareness doesn't stop your urge to blurt out and you speak while you lift your gaze.

"What the fu-" The words die in your suddenly dry throat while two blue eyes are focused on you.

You feel like passing out.

You're in the arms of this beautiful girl, Brittany, so you've managed to set up shortly before you answered so rudely and vulgarly. Her hands are tight around your arms, fingers wrapped on your skin while she keeps you in balance and your breasts brush with her almost, without ever touching for real.

You feel strange.

You've realized that you like girls and you've already had your good opportunities to put theory into practice. Yet there is something different in the way she's touching you that you aren't able to define.

"Sorry, I-" You try to put yourself back together, but then you realize that she's watching wearing a confused expression of her face. "I didn't want to, really." You try to make it clear but you realize that her eyes are no longer fixed on yours; indeed, she's staring at your mouth.

You feel a shiver go down your spine while stuttering something incoherently and you don't really want these long fingers to loosen the pressure on your arms as they're actually are doing.

"Um ..." You press your lips together, confused by what is going on (you're a little afraid that she's thinking about kissing you in public and you don't want to suffer bullying also in this room, so you mentally pray she doesn't).

Her blue eyes go back to yours and then she smiles at you.

"Don't worry." She simply answers and she lets go of her grip.

Stupidly, you feel like your skin's cold for the lack of contact. Yet you've only touched her for a couple of seconds. It's weird and crazy, but you can't really say you're sorry about what you're feeling.

"Oh, good, because I'm nervous and I don't know if I'm making any sense at all." You mutter.

Your lips are the object of her interest as she looks at them with insistence and then she smiles at you again, returning to your eyes. You have no idea if she's playing some awkward kind of psychological game with you or something.

"It happens." She tells you and she approaches a bit to you. You can feel her breath into your ear while she's talking to you and you don't understand what's this proximity for. "Cassandra knows how to be unbearable at times."

You wonder why she has felt the need to talk to you so closely and after a few seconds, you decide that maybe she is sort of intrigued and attracted to you. Moreover, despite all the shit that has been thrown at you, you're still Santana fucking Lopez and there's no way someone could not be attracted to you only because it's about a girl and not a boy. You should attract anybody. You should stop feeling less attractive than you are.

But it gets so hard at times …

"Well, yes, I've noticed." You roll your eyes a little, trying to show her a smile.

She looks at you, on your mouth again, and you wonder if you have something on your lips because, seriously, even if it she were attracted to you, she wouldn't be so obvious while staring. Would she?

"She's not that bad though." She tells you, looking back at your eyes once again. "Sometimes she can be sweet too; she has been kind to me so many times."

You wonder how long has she been here, but you don't want to ask too many questions and seem like a stalker or something.

"Her voice is unbearable, really." You sigh and look at the ceiling for a moment, annoyed, before returning to her.

The expression on her face surprises you though: the girl has clearly raised her eyebrows, as if she is surprised by something you said.

Eventually, she laughs lightly, but there's something sad and melancholy in her voice that she doesn't manage to hide too well for some reasons.

You don't know why, but this vein of sadness suddenly breaks your heart a little.

"You have no idea what I'd give to hear it, though."

The words crash into your ears in a way that almost makes them bleed.

You feel your chest grow heavily as you begin to put all the pieces back together and you think this can't possible.

You must have definitely got it wrong.

This beautiful girl in front of you can't be deaf, she can't. You must surely have misunderstood.

Probably everything that happened to you in the last few months immediately brings you to suffer and get to uniquely tragic endings. It's one of those cases probably.

Before you can notice, your prolonged silence has already become distressing. The girl, Brittany - as Cassandra said – is now looking at you sadly, she's swallowing.

_Shit_, you know this fucking face.

She's looking at you because you're already treating her like she's different.

"Sorry." She says in a low voice, coming a little closer to you. Now you understand why she does it, it's because she isn't able to control her voice, because she can't hear it. "I didn't want to bother you with my problems ..."

You're feeling sick.

"No." You answer immediately and Brittany's eyes fly to your mouth as if she's used to always behave like this spontaneously. "No, really, you don't, it's not bothering."

She smiles, but her smile is forced and you don't want her to feel the way you feel because of the others. You don't want to act like a bitch to her as people do to you.

"Is it for Cassie then?" She calls her with that nickname and you feel a little twinge in your stomach. It seems stupid, buy you suddenly want her to call you 'Sanny', 'San' or something like that. Then you realize that she doesn't even know your name. "She's a bit weird and crazy at times, but I've known her since I was a child." She shrugs.

"Um ... yeah." You reply vaguely, paying little attention at her words actually. You're hypnotized by her face, her beauty, her sympathy - because she looks so sunny that she could put you in a good mood. "Name's Santana anyway."

She looks at you more attentively, raising her eyebrows.

It takes you a few seconds but when her gaze rests on your lips, then you realized than names must be harder to perceive than common words.

"San-ta-na." You repeat slowly in syllables, hoping she doesn't take it wrong, that she doesn't feel like she's been treated like a fool.

The smile that blooms on her lips makes you think that fortunately she doesn't.

"Santana?" She asks, in further confirmation and you nod.

You smile back but you're still tense.

"You're Brittany, right?" You ask and she nods. She seems happy about the fact that you've taken notes.

"I've been dancing here for so long." She says with a little shrug and she gets down to pick up the bag and put it on her shoulder. "Since I was a child. I've always loved music."

A lot of questions fill your mind at these words, even if you try not to show it.

Can she dance without hearing the music?

How does she listen to it if she's deaf?

Is she really deaf?

Maybe you've just imagined it all.

Again, you're not very good at hiding your thoughts – well, you've always been a very shameless person - because she realizes what's going through your head.

"I'm missing the last years of hits, but the ones I could hear were beautiful." She smiles and your heart breaks again.

So it was sort of an accident.

"You're not missing anything." You answer, while you feel your heartbeat fasten at the thought. "Music has become so commercial and it sucks, like seriously, everything."

You see her smiling again, she looks like she's always so cheerful.

She seems to be happy with the simple fact that you're talking about it.

"I know it's not," She tells you, placing a hand on the bar and shrugging again, "but thanks for saying it."

The pain in your chest is becoming unbearable. You step nervously from foot to foot while you begin to feel uncomfortable.

"It's true and-"

"Don't do that." Brittany stops you before you can finish the sentence. "I don't like it when people speak to me in a certain way because I can't hear."

Well, now it's a certainty.

_Congratulations, Santana Lopez, you've just made her say out loud something like this._

You are a genius of sensitivity, totally.

"Well, it's a bit true though." You try to fix it up a bit however, awkwardly, and stopping for a few seconds to bite your lip. "I really like a few songs lately, good music is so rare."

"I miss Britney Spears a little though." She blurts out, wrinkling her lips and she must be a really strong girl for randomly talking about it like this. "She made me very strong at times, when I was feeling down because my cat wouldn't stop smoking."

You don't know whether she's serious or not, but you surely know she is amazing: you can barely give voice to what's bothering you. But she is quiet and she takes everything with a maturity that leaves you speechless.

"I couldn't lie about that." You tell her then, because you think she deserves the truth. "Britney is wonderful as always."

She laughs and then brings her other hand on her hip.

"I know, sometimes I look at her new videos." She explains, looking away from you as if she's about to say something embarrassing. "You know, my name is Britney Spears too." She tells you and you lift an eyebrow.

Brittany looks down to see if you're about to talk and then you do.

"What?" You ask, insecure, and she smiles at you.

"My name is Brittany Susan Pierce: Brittany S. Pierce."

You can't keep it then.

You're laughing.

You're _laughing_, Santana, this is real.

It's not one of those dreams in which you're happy and then you wake up upset, hoping that at least some of that joy is real. It's never real, but now you're laughing.

And she's adorable, noisy and fun.

She makes you want to hug her.

"Maybe you'll have the same success she had." You answer, hoping that the laughter doesn't make it too difficult to understand. She must have learned to read lips very well because she seems to understand.

"But then one of us would have to change her name." Brittany notices. "There can't be two stars with the same name."

You laugh spontaneously and you just can't hide the way in which this unknown girl is making you feel good. You can't call it joy, it would be too much, but at least it's a sense of lightness. It's nice, simply because you're smiling. That's already something, isn't it?

If you hadn't come to this room today, you would be definitely in yours, knees to your chest, these fake boobs boys were used to worshiped and now use they bring it on as an excuse to make fun of you because they know you're something that they can no longer have.

Standing in front Brittany, at this moment, you feel like you're in a different world.

The blonde lowers her gaze on the floor for a few seconds and you're wondering what she's thinking. You want to ask her something, but voice stops this attempt.

"Okay, let's get out, c'mon." Cassandra's voice fills the room and you sigh.

You have to say goodbye.

You don't want to do it for some reason.

You turn to her anyway, because you think it's the right thing to do. Immediately Brittany looks at your lips, because she knows you're going to talk.

"Cassandra says we must go on." You tell her, imagining that she didn't ... hear.

Shit, you feel stupid for thinking it.

"I know." Brittany answers, however, and you're smiling, as if you've made a blunder. You blink, trying to guess how she knows, but she is already explaining it to you. "I saw her shadow on the floor; she always lifts her stick when we have to go."

The stick.

You haven't even noticed that Cassandra had a fucking stick and Brittany had seen its shadow.

You wonder if it's true that people who lose a sense develop others. Brittany gives you a bold proof of her attention and how superior it is to yours.

"Oh."

It's your only comment.

She is still smiling, dangling adorably from one foot to the other.

She turns for a moment to look at the door, but you don't follow the movement; you don't want her to think that you stare at everything she does, not in this obsessive way anyway.

"I have to go." She tells you, and her smile turns strangely into a grimace.

"Me too." You reply and fantasize about it being an indirect invitation: you'd like it so much that Brittany said it to you, 'So, where do you live?' or 'Are we walking together?'.

It doesn't happen.

"See you around ... or here." She tells you and gives you a sweet wink.

You melt under her gaze, and you can only smile while you watch her go away.

What the hell, Lopez?

You should stop it.

You shouldn't do this: she's a stranger; she'll think you're a freak.

Yet you want to, so much ...

When you turn toward the door, Brittany is already far away and she's disappearing around the corner. Meanwhile Cassandra is watching you meanly, as if she doesn't understand why you're still in the room.

You sigh and then you begin to collect your things, feeling as if you're going to regret the fact that you haven't insisted on that a little more.

You don't know what's going on with Brittany right now.

You don't know who she's met as she turned into the hallway.

You don't know that you have much more in common with her than meets the eye.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N **Later than I expected, I know :( As I've said before, July is hell for me.

Also, Haiti2013 was sweet and betaed this 3 hope you enjoy!

/

**Chapter 1**

There are so many things you don't know about her, yet she's stuck in your mind and you can't find a way to get her out.

You think - and that maybe this makes you a bad person - that you feel guilty. There's no particular reason, it's that kind of feeling you get when you're around a _'different'_ person and Brittany, well, she is definitely a 'different', isn't she?

It's been almost a week and you're thinking of going back there. After all, before you met Brittany, you were able to isolate your mind enough not to think too much about what people say about you, how they treat you, how they smear your locker with nasty words and comments about the way you are.

There's a part of you that knows that Brittany will be there, because she said she's known Cassandra July since she was a little girl - she even calls her _Cassie_ - so she must assiduously following her lessons. At the same time, this part of you wants to see her again, it's curious to find out more about this person who seems so similar to you in many different ways.

While you wonder why you care so much, on the other hand you already have the answer: Brittany is _really _like you. The things you felt during your meeting last week opened your eyes a little. It's as if Brittany made you find out that you're not the only one that is _different_, at least you're different with someone else, and not all alone.

Brittany looked at you like you were judging her a few times and, as much as you know how stupid it is to feel guilty towards a girl that you barely know - if the bitch you were could hear you, she would be ashamed of you - you just can't help but feel the desire to apologize.

You have caused another person the same feeling that others continually make _you_ feel. That suffering, the pain of feeling like you're not even a human being.

It's ridiculous if you consider that happens just because you like girls rather than boys.

Do you like Brittany?

You honestly don't think so.

It's true, your first thought was that she was a stunning gorgeous girl, but you can't really say that you like a person with whom you've spoken just once.

Honestly, since you've found out that you like girls, you've also changed the way you estimate people. You feel a bit deeper if you compare it to the standards you used to pick boys. You don't even know if it could be effectively considered a standard.

You simply thought you'd be able to sleep with all the guys that seemed nice and maybe it's a too large standard to be considered one. Instead, since you've begun to take an interest in girls, everything is different. You've discovered that women live in a different word; there is so much to explore.

You feel a little feminist as you think about it, but you can't help it: it's simply the impression that you had. Perhaps it's due to the fact that no man has ever managed to make you feel anything more than an orgasm. They've always been just toys for you and, in part, you're aware of the fact that it goes the same for you in their eyes.

You're lying on the bed in your room, looking at the ceiling.

_What's wrong with me?_

This question is stuck in your mind; you can't help but wonder at least twice a day. You're even becoming convinced that there is really something and you just have to figure out what it is. You don't think you would change though, but you refuse to believe that everyone can treat you differently just because you like girls.

You brush your own hair.

It's the same way you've always brushed it.

You stare at the ceiling.

This is different: you have never spent so much time looking at nothing before. You had a social life, you had … _friends_? You're not sure you can call them that, at least, not anymore. What kinds of friends abandon you when you need them?

You rest your cheek against the mattress.

It's one of those things you've always done, and then you can't understand, really. You are exactly the same person you were before you found out that you liked girls the way you are supposed to feel about boys. Your way of approaching has change somehow, but you're still Santana Lopez.

You should also be the biggest bitch at McKinley, but now no one's afraid of you anymore.

You climb slowly on the bed until you reach the pillow. Wherever this night brings you to, it will be very long and tomorrow is Wednesday. There's another dance lesson, in the same classroom and all you need to do is decide whether you're going to go there or not.

It's all in your hands.

Unlike many things in your life, you can choose this.

This thought makes you smile a little while you pull the pillow closer to you.

/

When you step into the ballroom, always bright as if you were the middle of summer in some hot exotic location, you can't fight the small sense of disappointment, because you notice that she is not here. It's a strange feeling really, because you're supposed come to dance and feel comfortable in a place where nobody knows you, right?

Of course you didn't come here for _Brittany_, the deaf girl you barely know that maybe you'll never meet for anything more than a polite conversation.

You're here to dance.

You shouldn't even care about who's there and who's not, then you step in with more decision and nod to Cassandra July, while she will responds with an ironic half bow. It's unbearable that she makes you feel the weight of your flaws with a simple gesture, really (and then, even if the instructor makes you feel how you usually feel, Santana, what is the reason why you are here right now? You don't think you have a right answer for that).

You shift to place next to the bar, like the previous time, and drop your bag to the floor. You're following a sort of ritual that is to be repeated, or something like that, but you have no reason for that either.

You're acting strange, it's evident.

Sometimes your mind is a mystery to yourself too.

It's as if by now you don't even have control over your thoughts. Above all, because the people around you seem like they want you to understand that they care about anything but what _you're_ thinking: you're a problem for society, your sexuality seems to be a problem for everyone even if you haven't bothered anyone personally.

It's for this reason that you've lost the true Santana Lopez and you're not sure of the fact that you're going to find yourself again.

It makes you a bit sad, but there's a part of you that is resigned to the point that it has stopped hurting. It's okay; there is still nothing you can do to change the situation, so why should you waste your energy?

You're starting to lean a bit, to bend and loosen your muscles. There is something inside of you that's sad, and empty, but you don't know what it is. You feel the exact same things every day, so there must be something different from the last time.

You try not to think that it's Brittany: she is a girl you barely know, how could you be interested in her presence?

Maybe it's because you feel a little guilty. You made her feel different seven days ago, and you who know what it means to feel different, so you shouldn't do it to someone else. You should be very careful about what you say. Maybe you've started to see everyone around you as an enemy, so you can't understand who is mean and who is not.

Brittany is just a random victim that makes you realize that you're changing, more and more.

While you raise an arm to bend as you bend, you hear some giggles in the background. You turn your gaze immediately and it ends to the door.

When you see this scene, you immediately feel something bubbling inside you: Brittany is entering the room, holding her fingers tight around the shoulder strap of her bag, looking down on the floor (a look that you know well), and the other girls are laughing at her, looking, and pointing, whispering something you can't here from your spot.

You decide instinctively that you hate them, seriously. They just look like a stupid gossip group and you hate them because they make fun of a sweet creature like Brittany.

She doesn't even notice, of course, she's got her look down and can't hear them. Or maybe she _doesn't want_ to look and already knows that they are mocking her. For a few seconds, you realize that she is like you, just like you thought. They laugh at her because she's different.

You feel your hands shaking and your throat tightening.

You want to put your hands on these stupid bitches. Your eyebrows arch and the grimace of disgust on your face is dictated by the fact that you can't believe that they can laugh at such a lovely girl. At least you're a bitch and you know that when they make fun of you, it's also because they want revenge for all the times that it was you who insulted them.

While Brittany timidly approaches you (but her eyes still fixed on the floor, so you doubt she's noticed), you realize that she is innocent. You have only suffered a reprisal of your own wickedness, while she doesn't seem capable of hurting, how could she deserve such a thing.

She takes place in front of you but doesn't notice your presence.

She's too busy avoiding the looks that she knows that will hurt and you know this feeling, the mood, you know exactly what she's feeling right now and it makes you nervous and weak at the same time.

You want to hug her as much as you want to kick these bitches' asses.

You think it's even crueler than what they do to you because it's _mean_: these stupid girls are laughing at her while Brittany doesn't even have the opportunity to realize it. It's not only bad, but it is even _down right cruel_.

You wonder what the hell is wrong with people.

When Brittany finally looks up, after shyly biting her lower lip, she notices you.

Maybe you see her eyes lighting up a little of a different light and her lips curling into a smile.

While she's looking at you in a different way, you dare to say almost cheerful for some reasons you don't know how to define, you feel your heart pounding in your chest. The beats are quick while you move a bit faster, toward her. You take a few seconds to breathe and observe her clothes.

Unlike you - you're still dressed in black – she is wearing a yellow tank top, white sweatshirt and gray shorts.

You want to ask how the hell can she wear things like that, but all you can think about before you can check is that she looks amazing anyway. Shit, it's a strange feeling, isn't it? You feel butterflies in your stomach as you watch this beautiful girl who is smiling as if you were a ray of sunshine in her cloudy day. Well, she is definitely a ray of sunshine in _your_ cloudy day.

"Hey." She whispers, approaching you, looking in your eyes for a few seconds and then going down on your lips.

"Hey." You whisper back, and try hard not turn around to look from where a chuckle is coming.

You would not want Brittany to realize what's happening; especially you don't want her to know it from you. On the one hand it would be fair that she knew, on the other hand, you want to avoid this unnecessary sorrow

"You ... you've been here for long?" She asks you, and you can immediately see the effort that she needs to moderate her voice. You images that it must be horrible not being able to hear yourself as you speak. The thought makes you feel sick in your stomach.

Suddenly you feel that twinge replaced by a pleasant warmth when you realize that Brittany has used a random question to start a conversation with you. You find it adorable and you can't control the smile that blooms on your face as you watch her.

"Just a few minutes." You try to be as simple as you can with words. "I thought you weren't coming." You confess and you have to restrain from saying _I've thought of you all week long, I couldn't help it_.

You don't know if it's her golden hair - today gathered in a ponytail -, her wonderful blue eyes, her long legs ... and yet she's haunted you.

"I'm always here." She answers, with a bitter smile, shrugging and looking toward the floor.

You know exactly what that smile means.

It's the awareness that she is here because it's the only place where she feels safe, because it's the only place where she doesn't feel treated differently. The problem is also that you realize that she _is_ treated differently here too, simply she can't realize it. It's so damn unfair and cruel that someone will take advantage of her deafness to make fun of her behind her back.

They're obvious jealous, according to you.

Every girl in the world should be jealous of this sweet and sexy creature in front of you and they can only laugh at her deafness because the rest is way too perfect to get mocked. The very thought makes you sick and yet you were one of those people who make fun of others on their weaknesses not long ago.

Somehow, right now, you're just happy to not be one of those people, even though you had to go through hell to change.

"Hmm ... hey?" Brittany says, attracting your eyes.

You see her biting her lower lip and only then you realize that you didn't answer. You had lost a bit in your thoughts and you forgot the conversation.

"Oh, um ... yeah, I guess, Cassandra knows you well, so I deduced that you were here often." You speak quickly in panic, and you notice that she's tightening her eyelids as she focuses more on your lips to read them. She's probably reading the keywords or something. You don't know how it works. "So ... I'll find you here, like, always?" You ask her and she smiles back then.

"Of course."

She smiles at you and now you're both smiling, which makes you feel very relieved.

"Take your places, we start in two minutes." Cassandra announces and this time you already know that you will need to position yourself in front of Brittany.

You hate Cassandra a little because she's shut down your conversation with Brittany. However, you know that this is a ballroom, not a small table for coffee and chatting. Yet today it seems so. It didn't take much, but compared to last week, you feel less plagued, freer in this room. Of course, you also have a strong desire to make your way along the floor and pull your hands on those hateful bitches, but you won't do it for now (you have to admit that it's strange to feel this way towards a person you barely know, but again, maybe it's because you're too much alike and you know what she's feeling).

_For now._

The rest of the lesson goes through quietly, except for the slight anxiety that you feel about the nervousness at the idea that Brittany get bullied when she looks like an angel descended on earth. In addition, you just want to turn to face her, because you know she's behind you. You would want to look at her, you're curious to see her moving because you haven't seen the way she dances yet, but you can't do this because Cassandra's eyes are always focused firmly on you. You feel as if one step wrong could cost you a huge public derision and deep down you know that it's because the instructor seems the type of woman who can't help but make others uncomfortable. You don't know why, but it looks like you're always on her radar, she's staring at you throughout the lesson with a look that you're still not able to decipher.

When she picks up the stick, however, you just can't help but turn to face Brittany and smile while you settle your hair, the bun now loose and reduced to a ruffled ponytail. She is smiling too, as if she was _waiting_ for you to turn. There is a strange feeling between you, it's new and you don't understand it.

Some might have called it chemistry? But you never believed in that romantic stuff. But still…

At least it was one of those things that you've never imagined it could happen to you.

"You're a good dancer." Brittany tells you and you blush a little because you don't know if she's saying that to flirt or because she really thinks, which is hardly surprising seeing as she dances every week, so she's probably be much better than you.

In both cases, you feel flattered.

"N-no, really, I'm not." You laugh and cross your arms across your chest, nervously, pressing your lips together, you're a little tense. "I'm not so good, not really."

You shake your head.

You will have to learn to make better use of body language if you want to communicate with her, but it doesn't really bother you.

"You are." Brittany whispers, smiling and you look at her, a bit nervous. "I don't tell lies, ever. The Caterpillar has taught me that lies make us bad people."

You laugh a little nervous and, once again, you don't know if she's kidding or she's serious. This girl is so strange, confusing to you, but at the same time you like her.

Here you are.

You've already thought that you like her.

How bad are you now if you think that of a girl who is almost unknown to you?

"Well ... there are worst people than that." You try to joke but you're shaking, however, when you look into her eyes and it seems that those with crystalline irises can read every single part of you, revealing even the mysteries that lurk behind the your black ones. "Um ... you're not bad if you tell a lie to make people feel a bit better."

Brittany's eyes are now focused on your lips and you don't even realize you're swallowing under her gaze. She's so beautiful while she stares at your mouth that you think you'd kiss her. It is so stupid, but maybe it's because you haven't messed around with a girl for a while, and yet ... and yet Brittany seem so fragile that you can't only think of fun and messing around. It seems that almost every part of the talk involves much more from both of you, every time. Things that you don't even say to each other.

"I don't think so." She finally answers, when she has managed to order the words you spoke in her head, rearranging the sentence. Then again she's already looking back into your eyes. "You shouldn't tell a lie to make people feel better." She repeats, shaking her head. "You should tell them the truth and convince them that there is nothing bad about it."

You smile nervously, your heart is starting to pound at rhythms you do not know in your chest and you have no idea why. You lower your gaze for a few seconds, because these beautiful blue eyes are capable of making you feel at home and make you uncomfortable at the same time. You have no idea how to feel about it, and then you sigh a little and press your lips together, trying not to show it too much.

When you lift your gaze back to her, she's looking back at your mouth and you don't know how you feel about that, if you continue to come to these lessons, she will do that again.

Somewhere inside of you, you would like that she looked because she wants to kiss your mouth and not to read the words.

Somewhere inside of you, you really hope it's like this.

"Yeah, maybe you're right." You show her a smile, and she smiles back, nodding. "It's probably that I told the truth to anybody for too long and never lying made me a bitch, in their opinion."

"Well, they must have changed their mind when you told then that there is nothing to feel bad about in the truth, right?" She's smiling again, this time looking into your eyes.

_Right._

You've never thought about it, and yet the answer was so simple.

It's not about the fact that you told the truth, what you think that makes you a bitch in the eyes of other people, but the fact that you used the truth to humiliate them. You've ever thought of telling the truth on a good purpose, you've always done with such lightness that you didn't even worry about what you said.

Your silence and the way you look down guiltily must be fairly easy to decode for the girl who stands before you.

"Oh." She comments, and when you look up, she looks a little sad. "So ... you've never told anyone?"

You shake your head, lowering your gaze again.

"I hadn't realized." You answer, with another sigh. "I just thought that telling the truth about what I think - good or bad that it is - was right, to be completely honest. "

_To tell people when I think they suck_. You think, but don't add. For unknown reasons, you care about what the girl in front of you thinks of you. You would never want her to see you as that bitch that destroys others. Besides, now you've experienced on your skin what it means to feel different.

"You've got time to recover." She tells you and you raise your eyes, with a confused expression. For a few seconds, you think that for once she hasn't got what you said, but she has. "Maybe you could start by apologizing to the people you hurt."

You look straight into her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, feeling your heart beat faster. It's not just the blue of her eyes staring at you which is so beautiful it makes you forget any word you wanted to say. It's also because you know immediately that she is right: with your forked mean tongue you have also hurt people who wouldn't want to hurt, ever.

Maybe time has come to apologize.

As soon as you take a breath, Brittany's eyes are focused on your mouth again. You'll never get used to it. You feel that you want her to look at your lips look like that because she wants to kiss you. You barely know her and you feel the need to make you deliverable in her eyes. Is it egocentrism, narcissism, or are you simply attracted to this beautiful dancer?

"Do you ... do you think I should?" You ask, trying to articulate the words, as you stare at her face and try not to get charmed. It's hard. "Well, it's been a lot of time ago and-"

"It's never too late to apologize." She smiles at you and, after a few seconds, you do the same.

Just when you're about to thank her, you free Cassandra announce to get out of the classroom. You lean towards her anyway, but it's too late: Brittany's gaze is focused on the floor and she's noticed the saddle. She lifts her eyes and looks at you, but there is something different this time.

"It's never too late, okay?" She tells you only as you see a light sparkle of terror into her eyes.

You have no idea what's exactly happening but before you can even whisper a _thank you_, you see her running mysteriously out of the room, bag lifted to her abdomen. You stare at the scene motionless, unable to move, because it all happened too fast since a moment before you were talking and now Brittany has just run away, as if she was afraid of something.

You walk a little lifeless along the floor and no matter how much you stick out, you don't manage to catch her image through the door.

Only when you look around and notice that Cassandra is looking at you as if she's trying to kill you with her eyes, you realize that you're left alone with her and you should get out.

You move quickly, but your legs are trembling a bit for some reason, still destabilized by all that has happened in the last minute.

You find yourself out of the room, in the hallway.

You look around hoping to see her, but she's not there.

You sigh sadly and walk to exit the building.

When you do, however, you trample onto something.

You bow down to pick up the little piece of paper and as soon as you lift it in the mid-air to read it, you find yourself arching your eyebrows.

In an adolescent and feminine writing, it says: _I see you, but you can't hear my footsteps behind you_.

/

You've spent the whole night thinking about it, and yet you haven't achieved much.

You don't want to jump to conclusions and you think that it's also your personal experience that is influencing you. You think it's a kind of bullying, you someone might be haunting Brittany like they do with you. It reminded you a bit of the stupid notes you find in your locker that say 'I would speak to you, but I don't want you to infect me with your homosexuality', and things like that.

You don't know what makes you sick the most, the fact that you've learned to recognize these things right away, or the fact that someone could be doing such a thing to a person as good as Brittany, a girl who pushed you to do what you're doing now with her words.

You're walking down the hallway of McKinley, a bit of agitation running through your body. Your heart is pounding - not as strong as when you are next to Brittany, but still enough to make you understand how much nervous you are about doing something that you never do: apologize.

You try to be careful, because you don't want to inspire any rumor. You keep books close to your chest, as if they can defend you, and you get close to her, tapping with your finger on her shoulder.

She turns right towards you, startling a bit and watching you with her green eyes full of something that you can't define. She isn't smiling, but you didn't expect things to be different, to be honest.

"Um ... I know this will seem stupid to you and it actually seems stupid to me too, if that's a consolation." You explain and roll your eyes to yourself, hating that you are being so ridiculous in front of the girl who used to be your best friend.

However, Brittany's words have made you think and you need to re-evaluate all the words that you said in recent years, including all those times when you thought you were only sincere and instead you've probably offended people, hurt them.

"We don't have much to talk about." Quinn winces and immediately closes the locker, showing you her shoulders and hurrying to put some distance between you.

You won't give up.

You walk in the same way and follow her.

"Listen, Q-"

"There is no more Q for you." She replies, still annoyed with that grin on her face, while clutching books to her chest and you feel a stab in your heart.

You know it's true, but it still hurts.

She's the friend of a lifetime and you want her to see you as she saw you before.

"Quinn, hey, wait." You stretch your arm to grab at hers, wrapping your fingers around her skin, exposed from uniform.

She then turns around, looking first at the point where your hand is closed around her arm, then slowly, until she meets your eyes.

"What do you want?" She asks, breathing and looking at you with those green eyes that seem to be able to kill. "I thought it was clear that our friendship was over when you decided not to tell me about you."

You shake your head a little and wince. You know you'd have never been able to tell her alone, the fear of being judged clutching into you, it has stopped you and it's always going to be like this.

"I'm sorry." You murmur and look straight into her eyes because she knows how hard it is for you to say that. "I haven't been honest with you, and when I've been, I just sounded offensive."

She looks at you, lifting an eyebrow, as always, clutching the books to her chest.

"What do you mean?" She asks hesitantly, as if she wants to show the hesitant side of her anyway.

"You know, when ... when I do that thing." You explain, gesturing and then focusing your black eyes on her. "When I think of things, I say that and pull out because I think that there is nothing wrong in telling the truth. I realized that maybe sometimes when I do, I become offensive. I've never even thought to tell you that everything's okay to me."

You shyly raise your gaze, as shyly as you never do.

Quinn's looking at you in disbelief, as if she doesn't understand how _you_ can say such a thing.

You breathe in; you don't want her to think that you put on a speech on purpose or something. You're simply going to her wearing your heart on your sleeve, brutal honesty.

"What makes you think I care?" Quinn replies to you, raising her eyebrows.

You can see it in her eyes that she's tempted to give you a chance to speak but she's also too proud to do so.

"Well, whatever has moved your noble spirit toward this direction, that's not how it works." She tells you, blinking as if she is insecure. "You can't just come in here and tell me that ... you're suddenly sorry."

"But I truly am." You try to explain to her, looking at her with sincere eyes. "Look, I know you probably imagine that I'm saying this because I spent all the money I had to buy some cigars and I want to bum lunch, but it's not like this." You see her lips a little arch in a spontaneous smile. "I'm here because someone spoke to me and made me think-"

"Well, anyone who has spoken, it must have a great influence on you, because I'm sure that you would never do what other people tell you to do." She answers, and once again she lifts an eyebrow. "I wonder who made you change your mind because I've tried for months and the result was just being insulted even more."

You smile a bit, but at the same time, you look down: it wasn't your intention, that's how you behave naturally. You didn't want her to feel as if her words aren't worth anything.

And then there's that part of you that think about her words: you have no idea how to justify that Brittany has convinced you on a day while she hasn't been able to do it for months; plus, you can't help but think of what Brittany means to you, how she can make you take these decisions with a few words and one look, when you've always been the kind of person that can't be controlled by anyone.

"I'm so sorry, okay?" You ask, lifting you gaze nervously up at Quinn as if you want to avoid that part of the speech. "You know how hard it is for me to say or do these things; I'd rather talking crap about people because it's easier."

"I know." Quinn shrugs and answers you. "I've always known, I was just waiting that you found the courage to tell me out loud."

You arch your eyebrows, but before you can actually say something, Quinn shows you a grin and her back, and then walks down the hall.

You stay there, in the middle of the hallway, under the gaze of all the student of McKinley High.

You don't know exactly what this smile is supposed to mean, if Quinn is planning to give you a second chance or something.

It's a small glimmer and you don't know if it will turn into light.

Yet, you feel a slight and familiar heat spread through your body, invading your chest with a silent _thank-you _that you're whispering in your head.

You know it's for Brittany.

You also know that you will have to wait a week to tell her out loud and this is making you sad and weak, lost on the dirt floor, probably exposed to the eyes of all those people who want to see you looking like this along the hallways.

A long week without Brittany.

For some reason you don't know, it's already too much to bear.

10


End file.
